Sweet Attraction (Slow Seduction) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  If you love sexy romance, one-click these steamy Brazen releases… Scoring with the Wrong Twin

  The Bad Girl and the Baby

  Bachelor Games

  Make Me Yours

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Melanie Munton. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Brazen is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC. For more information on our titles, visit www.brazenbooks.com.

  Edited by Nina Bruhns

  Cover design by Cover Couture

  Cover art from Shutterstock

  ISBN 978-1-64063-369-8

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition January 2018

  For my parents

  Chapter One

  Dr. Phil could kiss her ass.

  Jade Hollingsworth scowled at the road in front of her, her insides quivering with anxiety as she drove down the highway. What had the good doctor said during the one episode of his show she had ever watched?

  You can’t play the game of life with sweaty palms.

  Well, she was sure as hell playing the game of life now.

  And her damn palms had never been sweatier.

  But none of this was a game. And she should never have listened to a TV psychologist in the first place. It would have been a lot more helpful if the dude had shared what to do when your palms got so sweaty you could barely maintain your control on the steering wheel of life.

  Buy a stronger antiperspirant?

  The drive from Washington, DC to Shell Grove, South Carolina was over seven grueling hours. After driving five, she was on the verge of throwing up her greasy fast food dinner. Not because she was carsick or had the flu. No. She was ready to toss her cookies because of the huge, life-altering decision she was making.

  Although, Dr. Phil never told her to open up her own swimsuit shop in a strange town where she didn’t know a single person.

  But he’d implied it with the whole sweaty palms comment.

  She would have been a coward if she didn’t do it, right? And she didn’t want to be a coward. So, she’d said sayonara to her bitchy boss at the swanky bakery where she’d worked in downtown DC, flipped off all the asshole customers she would never have to deal with again, slammed the door on her hated stepmother and pig of a stepbrother, and packed up her car for greener pastures.

  Actually, she didn’t know what the pastures were like in the coastal town of Shell Grove, because she had never seen the town in person before. Everything she knew about it was based on internet research. Her Realtor had found her a house there and a storefront for her swimsuit shop. But other than that, she might as well have been moving to Timbuktu.

  Was it risky? Definitely.

  Could she fail? Absolutely.

  Was she terrified beyond all belief? You bet your ass.

  It hadn’t been her intention to start this journey off on such a melancholy note. But hey, no one had ever accused her of being an optimist before. Maybe a realist. After all, failure was a real possibility, and she had to prepare herself for—

  Oh God.

  She had to pull over.

  Thankfully, she spotted a decent-looking hotel chain at the next exit and whipped her five-year-old BMW convertible into the parking lot. After turning the ignition off, she fought to get herself back under control by taking deep, calming breaths.

  She could do this. She had to do this.

  She had taken far too many steps to get where she was, and she couldn’t turn back now.

  She glanced over at the shoebox in her front seat. The meager cardboard box held all of her most prized possessions, which was why she hadn’t risked it to the fates of the rickety moving truck that had picked up her furniture the day before. The contents of the box haunted her, always making their presence known in her subconscious.

  She had to pry her eyes away.

  Focusing back on the hotel, she pushed out a heavy breath.

  Time to sleep in the bed you made for yourself, sweetheart.

  Having left DC much later than she’d planned to, night had already fallen, and besides, the moving truck wouldn’t be at the house she’d rented in Shell Grove until the next morning. So, she had some time to kill.

  Two more hours on the road didn’t sound as appealing as drinking her worries away in a bottomless glass of wine. Or vodka.

  She grabbed her luggage and purse, checked herself into a standard room with a queen-size bed, and trotted back down to the hotel’s restaurant-slash-bar. She didn’t bother changing out of her high-waist shorts and crop top because one, it was hot, and two, she didn’t give a rat’s ass what she looked like. Okay, so maybe she’d touched up her beehive ponytail just a little. And she may have reapplied her trademark plum lipstick. But so what?

  If she was going to attend her own pity party tonight, she wanted to be dressed for the occasion. She wasn’t completely devoid of pride.

  Dignity, maybe, but not pride.

  She made a beeline for the bar and immediately flagged down the bartender. “Dry martini and a shot of the best stuff you have,” she told him. “I don’t care what it is.”

  He tossed her a half grin. “The last woman who said that to me, I ended up marrying.”

  Jade glanced down at his bare ring finger. “And that charming smile wasn’t enough to keep her around?”

  He chuckled, the sound coming out gravelly, making him seem older than he was. She’d bet he was a smoker.

  “No, the smile was fine with her. It was my rule of monogamy that wasn’t.”

  “Sounds like you’re better off.”

  He winked. “My thoughts exactly. Let me get those drinks for you.” He sauntered down to the other end of the bar where he pulled a bottle filled with amber liquid off a shelf.

  She hoped he wouldn’t try to make conversation with her all night. He was cute, though she suspected there was too much manscaping going on down under for her liking. And although he seemed nice and looked to be about her age, she was going to spend the rest of her evening giving herself one hell of a pep talk. She si
mply had no time—or motivation—for polite chitchat or subtle innuendo.

  The bartender dropped off her drinks. “Let me know if I can get you anything else.” She was relieved when he walked off without another word.

  As she sipped her martini, letting the alcohol slowly slide down her throat, she took the opportunity to scan over the other patrons. There were a few couples scattered around the restaurant area, other individuals seated by themselves—traveling on business if she had to guess—and a table of three older gentlemen in the bar area. Surprisingly, she was the only one actually seated at the bar—

  Except for him.

  Her attention caught on the hulking figure who sat at the end corner of the bar, facing her direction.

  Wow.

  The guy was…big. Not, I pump iron three times a day and pop steroids like M&M’s big. More like, I work my ass off for a living and this is the result big. And judging by his lack of suit and the beer bottle in front of him, she had a feeling he was not someone who pushed papers behind a desk all day.

  He probably looked better in that fitted T-shirt than he would in a suit, anyway.

  She was trying to get a better look at his face when his head suddenly turned and his eyes connected with hers. Flustered, she quickly averted her gaze and focused on the television in front of her.

  Had he caught her staring?

  Probably, because that’s how her day was going.

  She hadn’t gotten a good look, but from what she’d seen, the guy was well proportioned. His jaw had appeared as strong as the rest of his body, and she’d definitely noticed a five o’clock shadow peppering his cheeks. She tried peeking out of the corner of her eye to get another look, but he was just a dark, blurry mass. And she was too embarrassed to actually turn her whole head again.

  But she could feel his eyes on her.

  She didn’t have to get a good look at them to know they were glued to her, searing through her. It was strange. She hadn’t really seen his face to know what he actually looked like, and all he could see of her was her profile. But she knew his gaze was intense. She could feel the way he was studying her, and a thrill shot through her.

  Whoa.

  What are you doing, Jade?

  She had just told herself she wasn’t there for conversation or flirting. She had to move to her new life tomorrow, and more than anything, she had to get her fears under control. At the reminder of what she had gotten herself into, she tipped her head back and downed the shot of…oh yeah, that was whiskey. Gah.

  Her attention was once again drawn to the Incredible Hulk when the bartender went over and asked if he wanted another round. She took advantage and subtly watched their exchange.

  “I’ll have another Bud,” the guy responded, the deep rumble of his voice easily reaching her ears.

  She was already in love with the South.

  If all men down here had an accent like that, well…conversing with the opposite sex certainly wouldn’t be a hardship.

  As if he was as aware of her as she was of him, the Hulk’s gaze flew back to her the second the bartender walked away. Dammit. She had been too distracted by his voice to pay attention.

  She knew he’d caught her that time.

  And was he grinning at her?

  She thought she’d detected a small quirk of his lips just before she darted her attention back to the TV.

  She squirmed in her seat, feeling like an animal at the zoo, making her hyperaware of herself and everything around her. It was that feeling like when you wanted to check every five seconds to make sure your boob wasn’t popping out even though you knew it was impossible. Or make sure you didn’t have food in your teeth even though you hadn’t eaten anything. Or that your lipstick wasn’t smeared from cheek to cheek like the Joker.

  She sat there sipping her martini, staring at the TV while she fought to block the mysterious stranger out of her mind and concentrate on what she had to do over the next few days.

  Tomorrow, she was moving into her new house in a new town.

  Tomorrow afternoon, she was going to meet with her contractor.

  Actually, she was going to go cuss out the jerk of a contractor who had just quit on her.

  The guy hadn’t even started the renovations at her swim shop yet, and he’d sent her an email—earlier that morning—explaining that he couldn’t do the job due to time constraints. He’d offered his apologies and recommended a few other companies in the area. But his half-assed apology did nothing to assuage her irritation. She didn’t have the time or money to waste on finding someone else and going through the entire process again.

  She was going to track down the d-bag and—if she could keep her temper in check—somehow convince him to change his mind. She was done getting walked all over by people who thought they could control her life. Done with people who didn’t give a damn about how much their selfish actions hurt her. Done with getting her heart broken by people who cared more about money and prestige than simple human feelings.

  Done. Done. Done.

  But for now, she was going to let all that fuel her pissy, the-world-is-ending attitude, because it was therapeutic.

  After she handled the issue of that jerkface, reneging contractor, well, then she was going to make some new friends.

  Okay. That was a good start.

  See? All she needed were a few minutes to gather herself and she would be fine—

  The bartender placed another martini down in front of her. She looked at him in confusion, then down at her empty glass. Huh. When had that happened?

  Her fingers reached for the stem as she mumbled, “Thanks.”

  He tipped his head toward the Hulk. “From the gentleman.”

  What?

  Cautiously, she turned in the man’s direction and watched as he slowly raised his head and locked eyes with her. Her heart pounded as they gazed at each other, neither smiling nor moving an inch. She experienced tunnel vision as she got lost in his dark eyes. There could have been a Chinese New Year parade traipsing through that bar and she wouldn’t have noticed.

  Play it cool, girl.

  It took more effort to smile than it should have. But she pulled it off, raising her new glass to him in thanks. He returned the smile, tipping his beer bottle at her in salute. As he took a drink from it, his eyes never once strayed from her. She was mesmerized by the way his throat muscles bobbed when he swallowed. And when his hand rose to rub across his chin and move over his jawline, she about drooled dry martini all over herself.

  Holy hell.

  How could one small movement—and not even a provocative one—be so damn sexy? The next thing she knew, he was pushing up off his stool, grabbing his bottle, and slowly making his way over to her.

  Oh my God. He’s coming over.

  Okay, no big deal.

  She could talk to an intimidatingly gorgeous man like him. No problem.

  Just don’t do that weird giggle thing you do when you’re nervous—

  “Hi,” he said in a low, smooth tone.

  She swallowed thickly, clearing her throat. “Hi.”

  “Mind if I sit here?” He pointed to the stool next to her.

  Mind?

  He could have shown her the toenails he’d removed from all thirty of his murder victims and she wouldn’t have minded.

  “No, go ahead,” she replied, waving at the stool. She tracked his movements as he sat down, bringing his body closer to hers. Maybe too close. Not close enough. “Thanks for the drink, by the way.”

  “You’re welcome.” His expression held amusement. “Looked like you needed it.”

  She cringed. Great. Did she look like a lush or something?

  “Is it that obvious?”

  He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the bar. “That you seem to be having a rough day? A little bit.”

  She sighed, wondering why he’d even bothered coming over at all, if she looked like a hot mess. Because, apparently, she did. “I was afraid of that.”

&nb
sp; He chuckled lightly. “Don’t worry. You didn’t have Resting Bitch Face or anything like that.”

  Her gaze snapped up to see his mouth spreading into a wide grin. Okay, he was teasing her. To most women, that would have been obvious. But Jade had enough experience with assholes to know that a lot of people who said things like that meant them in the most insulting ways.

  “Well, that’s a relief,” she said, taking a long sip of her drink. “Because if I did, I’d have to really question your motives for coming over here.”

  He released a full-bodied laugh. She couldn’t help but appreciate the way it made the lines of his face relax.

  “Oh, I’ve become very adept at spotting that look, and trust me, I would have steered clear,” he said, his hand once again scratching his stubbled chin. “You just looked like you needed to unwind a little.”

  She lifted an eyebrow as she shifted her stool to the side, facing more of her body in his direction. “Very astute.”

  “That’s what they all say.” He winked and she had to smile. “I have a sister. So, recognizing those types of looks from an early age became a means of survival for me.”

  She laughed. “Are you saying that a big guy like you is afraid of his sister?”

  The look he sent her was full of mock horror. “You would be, too, if you knew her. I barely escaped my childhood home with my life.”

  She laughed harder, shaking her head. Maybe this was what she needed to really take her mind off everything. A nice conversation with a funny, charming stranger.

  Admittedly, she hadn’t had one of those in a long time.

  “So, what brings you to this particular bar this evening?” he asked.

  She was about to respond with the truth but paused. He could actually have a toenail collection in his pocket. Weren’t a lot of serial killers normal-looking, unassuming people? Best not to risk being ax-murdered, and just stick to vague facts.

  “Just passing through,” she responded. “You?”

  He narrowed his eyes, and she knew he could sense she wasn’t going to reveal much. Wisely, he followed her lead.

  “The same, I guess.” He took a drink, studying her over the bottle. “So, does that also mean I don’t get to learn your name?”

  She touched the tip of her nose with her finger. “Like I said, you’re very astute.”